


A New Man

by rippergiles



Series: Our Time [10]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 17:22:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 13,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17329268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rippergiles/pseuds/rippergiles
Summary: Early 2000. Stalemates can’t last forever.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The episode “A New Man” was written by Jane Espenson. This section is primarily based on scenes from that episode in a narrative format, in an attempt to tell Rupert and Ethan’s whole story. Content warning for excessive alcohol use.
> 
> Sorry for a bit of a delay since Band Candy- catching up from the holidays left me with less time to write than I'd hoped. But these two are definitely at the forefront of my mind- I have a brand new Mark of Eyghon tattoo to prove it. Here's hoping it doesn't come with a demon attached.

_Changes on our hands and on our faces_  
_Memories are mapped out by the lines we’ll trace  
_ _As you held me down, you said_

_”I’ll see you in the future when we’re older_    
 _a_ _nd we are full of stories to be told  
_ _Cross my heart and hope to die,  
_ _I’ll see you with your laughter lines.”_  
**-Laughter Lines, Bastille**  
  
  
  
  
        “SURPRISE!”  
  
        The room erupted in cheers around him as a startled Buffy recognised them and relaxed. Her face broke into a sly smile as a seemingly endless stream of students Rupert didn’t know gave her birthday greetings and well-wishes. He was glad when he was able to retreat to a corner with Xander and Anya.  
  
        “This is a lively space,” he told them around a mouthful of cake. “It’s like the activities room we had at public school.”  
  
        He shifted out of the way as two burly young men arranged themselves to battle at the foosball table. A memory twinkled in his eye as he turned back to Anya. “One time,” he said, giggling at the thought, “I, uh, was up to a bit of a prank with the dartboard--”  
  
        The ex-demon ignored him, turning to her beau. “I’m bored. Let’s eat.”  
  
        Xander’s attempt to correct her bluntness and Anya’s half-hearted apology did not coddle Rupert. He waved them off, unamused, and settled in for a night of being an aging wallflower. Unfamiliar young faces swarmed the room, laughing raucously as Rupert sipped his punch. Even Willow’s approach and conversation felt like an act of pity. He was glad when the guest of honor finally came to him, thinking that once he’d seen her he could leave without being rude.  
  
       “Happy birthday,” he told Buffy as he balanced his plate and cup to give her a one-armed hug.  
  
       Her bubbly smile was infectious; Giles felt himself warming as he realised she was having a legitimately good time. A tall, athletic type hung behind her, bouncing nervously on his feet.  
  
       “There’s someone I want you to meet,” Buffy told him, an unusual formality in her voice as she shifted the young man forward. “This is Riley Finn. My boyfriend.”  
  
       Rupert was halfway to shaking the young man’s hand when the final words registered; how long had Buffy had a new boyfriend without him knowing? As much as he strived to remove himself from the personal affairs of his younger companions, Buffy was rather a special case-- her Slayer responsibilities made it rather hard to engage with people with no knowledge of vampires or the supernatural. Angel had been, in an ironic way, a rather perfect match for Buffy, having insider knowledge built in.  
  
        “It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Giles,” Riley said. “Did you help plan this? It was quite the surprise.”  
  
        “The first of many,” Rupert mumbled. “Um...been dating long?”  
  
        Buffy jumped in. “Giles was the librarian at my high school.”  
  
        Riley smiled. “Ah, I’ve seen the library. It’s gone downhill since you left.”  
  
        Rupert forced himself to chuckle, thinking of the burnt carcass of what was once his sacred place. “Yes, I, I’m embarrassed to say I quite miss it at times.”  
  
        “So, you’re retired?”  
  
        Rupert frowned. _God, how old does he think I am_ _?_  
  
        Riley’s eyes widened, shifting back and forth between Rupert and Buffy. “Or- uh- you’re working somewhere else now?”  
  
        “Well, not, uh,” he fumbled, trying to stave off the embarrassment from his face. “Sort of between projects right now.”  
  
        “Look!” Buffy chirped. “Giles has no cake.”  
  
        Riley leapt to the occasion like an overeager labrador puppy, running to refill his plate. Rupert wasn’t sure if he was really that enthusiastic or if he just wanted a reason to leave the conversation. He found himself somewhat wishing he had a similar excuse.  
  
        “Oh, he’s just nervous,” Buffy explained, as if she had read his thoughts. “But this is so nice, having everyone together for my birthday. Of course, you could smash in all my toes with a hammer and it will still be the bestest Buffy birthday bash in a big long while.”  
  
        Giles winced, remembering his role in the events of her previous birthday. It had rightfully fractured Buffy’s trust in him, and landed him in his current state of unemployment. That was one way to put this party in perspective.  
  
        “Willow and Xander did all the planning,” he told her with a smile. “I’m not sure I would have gone with the surprise party. You know, you have enough things jumping out at you in the dark.”  
  
        “Professor Walsh says that adrenaline is like exercise but without the exorbitant gym fees.”  
  
        He pursed his lips. “Very witty.”  
  
        Buffy beamed. “You should meet her.  She's absolutely the smartest person I've ever met.”  
  
        Giles blinked, his previous irritation resurfacing as he took a sip of punch. “Perhaps we should have invited _Professor Walsh_ to the party.”  
  
        Buffy made a noise of dismissal, waving his suggestion off. “Oh, no. I mean, she's like forty. She's got better things to do than hang out with a bunch of kids.”  
  
        He knew Buffy was being flippant, certainly not intentionally malicious, but he had trouble with the fact that someone could wound him so easily while not intending to do so. Riley returned with cake, but Rupert merely picked at it, already coming up with excuses to leave.


	2. Chapter 2

        A bell tinkled as Ethan opened the door to the magic shop. A light haze of incense hung in the air, swirling around the shelves of spell ingredients and magical trinkets. He seemed to be alone in the shop as he began browsing for a few supplies. He hadn’t decided yet whether he would disguise himself when approaching Rupert- would it be more or less likely that Rupert would kick his arse if he couldn’t recognise him? After his stunt with the chocolate and the unexpected way the night had ended, Ethan didn’t know what to expect anymore.  
  
        After locating what he needed, he passed a display laden with coloured candles, flower petals, twine tied in knots, a variety of oils, as well as several things he couldn’t identify. A small handwritten sign topped the display. _For love spells_. He reached out, fingering a thin red candle as he inhaled the musky incense smoke.  
  
         “Ahh,” a voice said behind him, causing Ethan to spin around. “Our bestsellers.”  
  
        The shopkeeper was a tiny, ancient woman, her back hunched over and her eyes so obscured by bags it was a wonder she could still see.  
  
        “Tell me,” she continued dreamily, “what kind of love is it you are seeking?”  
  
        Ethan shook his head, moving away from the display. “Not really my style. I just need to buy these.”  
  
        She smiled up at him as he approached the register, in a knowing way that unsettled Ethan. He glanced away as she totaled and bagged his purchases, handing over his card and leaving the shop as soon as he was able.  
  
        Stepping back into the sunlight, the warmth on his face brought him back to why he’d come. He set off down the street, spell ingredients rattling around in his bag.


	3. Chapter 3

        Rupert felt increasingly foolish as he doubled back down yet another hallway. What hope did students have of locating their professors when the building containing staff offices was impossible to navigate, with no signs or room numbers to indicate the correct direction?  
  
        He found himself growing impatient as he searched for this Professor Walsh Buffy had mentioned. After discovering the prophecy of the demon prince Barvain’s rise and confirming, with mounting alarm, that it indicated that very night, he’d traveled to Buffy’s dorm room and found it empty. She wasn’t with Xander or Willow either. His last recourse was to find Walsh and hope Buffy had been to see her recently. Something more than irritation bubbled under the surface at the thought of a random professor having a more reliable grip on Buffy’s whereabouts than her own Wa…  
  
        He stopped. He wasn’t her Watcher anymore. These days, he had no more claim to Buffy’s time than any friend or colleague. Sometimes it felt like she was doing him a favour, making time for him.  
  
        Looking up from his thoughts, he was surprised to be in front of a door that displayed a nameplate reading _Prof._ _Maggie Walsh_. He sighed and rapped on the door, opening it when a voice inside beckoned him to come in.  
  
        Behind a desk sat a rather severe-looking woman, with short blonde hair and eyebrows that were raised at Rupert.  
  
        “Professor Walsh, I presume,” he began, which the woman answered with a nod. “You’re hard to find. These halls are quite the labyrinth. I felt like Theseus and the Minotaur in the...labyrinth.” he finished lamely.  
  
        She blinked. “Can I help you with something, Mr…?”  
  
        He shuffled forward, extending a handshake. “Giles. Rupert. I’m looking for Buffy Summers. I’m, uh, a friend of hers. And I was her...high school librarian.”  
  
        He winced at the addition, unsure why his mouth felt the need to include it. _Time for you to get a new identity, old man_.  
  
        “I’m sorry,” Walsh told him. “Buffy’s not here. But if I see her…”  
  
        He was staring at the abundance of framed degrees and other credentials that covered the office’s walls. Insecurity gnawed at him as he reflected on his own failed attempt at higher education. Buffy’s voice echoed in his mind. _She's absolutely the smartest person I've ever met.  
_  
        He shook his head, resolving to ignore his own hang-ups and be kind to this stranger.  
  
        “Buffy's been very influenced by your cause,” he told Professor Walsh with a forced smile. “She quotes you quite often. Sometimes she sounds like an introductory textbook herself.”  
  
        “I don’t lecture from the textbook,” Walsh replied curtly. “But I'm glad she's inspired by the material. She's bright.  All she's really been lacking is encouragement in the academic sect.”  
  
        Rupert frowned. “I think it's best if. . . if we let a young person find their own strengths. If you lead a child by the hand then they'll never find their own footing.”  
  
        Walsh raised her eyebrows at him. ”And if it's true about hiking, ergo, it must be true about life.”  
  
        Rupert didn’t appreciate feeling chastised for harmless conversation. He removed his glasses to polish them before continuing. “That's not, uh . . . I'm just saying Buffy is, well, she's not the typical student. Once you get to know her, she's a very unique girl.” He met Professor Walsh’s gaze. “I hope you're not going to push her.”  
  
        “I think I do know her.  And I have found her to be a unique _woman_.” she replied as she rounded her desk to face him.  
  
        Rupert bristled. "Woman. Of course. How wrong of me to choose my own words.”  
  
        “She's very self-reliant, very independent--”  
  
        Rupert stepped forward. “Exactly!”  
  
        “--which is not always a good thing,” Walsh finished. “I think it can be unhealthy to take on adult roles too early. What I  __suspect I'm seeing is a reaction to the absence of a male role model.”  
  
        Rupert squinted at her. “Absence?”  
  
        Walsh stepped toward him. “Buffy clearly lacks a strong father figure.”  
  
        Astonished by her nerve, Rupert didn’t know what to say to that. He realised, too late, that his mouth was hanging open.


	4. Chapter 4

       “So that’s why I’m here,” Ethan told the demon, whose folds of loose skin shifted slightly with the breeze drifting through the cemetery. “To tell him what I know about this 314 and see if I can find out more.”  
  
       The creature frowned, or, at least, Ethan thought it was a frown. He spoke in a high voice that did not match his appearance. “Sunnydale’s a dangerous place to be right now for the supernaturally-inclined. Why didn’t you just call him?”  
  
       Ethan opened his mouth to answer, but found that a snappy retort eluded him. He was rescued from replying when the door to a nearby mausoleum opened, releasing three young soldier-types into the waning light of the evening. Ethan and the demon ducked behind a tree to remain unobserved.  
  
       “Threat neutralised, over” one spoke into a walkie-talkie as they marched in unison toward the cemetery’s exit.  
  
       Ethan waved a farewell to his unique companion and crept closer to the crypt the men had emerged from. He glanced around him, confirming his immediate vicinity unoccupied before shifting the heavy door inward and entering the crypt.  
  
      Nothing inside seemed out of place. A few stone monuments holding caskets seemed undisturbed, dust still layered on top. Cobwebs covered the corners of the room. Ethan had just wrapped his fingers around a tall candelabra when he heard muffled voices coming from outside the door. He scurried into a shadowy corner, crouching behind a slab of stone just as the door opened.  
  
      His stomach flipped as he recognised the first figure inside. Rupert looked irritable and put-out, a casual jacket and jeans having replaced his previous tweed ensemble. Behind him came in two teenagers Ethan knew as well, the Slayer a noticeable absence from their little group.  
  
      The three of them glanced around the crypt for a moment before the young man spoke. “Your better demons will clean up after themselves.”  
  
      “I don’t understand,” Rupert said, confusion clouding his face as he scanned the room with an electric torch. “There should be ruptured earth- broken stone… Perhaps it hasn’t happened yet?”  
  
      “Or, you know what I bet?” the redhead girl piped up. “I bet the Initiative took care of it.”  
  
      Rupert’s brows drew together. “Who?”  
  
      “Riley and his guys,” the younger man explained. “Probably all over it.”  
  
      Rupert still appeared at a loss. Ethan thought his visit and information might end up being more welcome than he’d expected.  
  
      “What?”  
  
      “Oh, they read hot spots. Areas of otherworldy energy,” Willow told Rupert as she glanced around. “They must've picked this place up days ago.”  
  
       Rupert held out his hands, shaking his head. “Stop, both of you. Uh, what . . . what are you talking about?  What's the Initiative? What. . . what on earth does it have to do with Buffy's new boyfriend?”  
  
       The two teenagers exchanged a nervous glance as Rupert shone the light toward them.  
  
       “You know. I'm sure you know,” the girl faltered as she saw Rupert’s expression, which was hidden from Ethan. “Riley's one of the commandos.”  
  
       “What?!” Rupert cried, exasperation clearly mounting. “Well that's marvelous, isn't it? Here I am, spent weeks trying to get a single scrap of information about our mysterious demon collectors and no one bothers to tell me that Buffy's  _ dating _ one of them!” He massaged his temple. “Who else knows?”   
  
       “No one,” Xander was quick to supply. “No one else knows this.” He paused, realisation settling on his face.  “Anya, and that's it!”  
  
       A sheepish mumble came from the girl beside him. “And Spike.”  
  
       Rupert’s voice rose an octave. “Spike?  _ Spike _ knew?”   
  
       “Only the basic stuff. You know, that Riley is a commando and Professor Walsh is in charge.”  
  
       Ethan ducked lower as Rupert spun around, fury overtaking his face. “Professor Walsh???  That _fishwife_?”  
  
      “You know, she's actually not that bad once you get to--” Willow began, then stopped as she caught a glare from Rupert. “W-we'll just, you know--”  
  
      “Oh, forget it. Go on,” Rupert sighed petulantly. Ethan knew there was anger there, but Rupert’s incredulous tones had betrayed the genuine hurt underneath. “You two clear off. I'll just stay a little longer just in case.”  
  
        “You sure?” Willow asked nervously. “'Cause we can stay.”  
  
        “No. Go.”  
  
        The youngsters scurried out as Ethan watched Rupert sink onto a monument, dropping his supply bag onto the floor.  
  
        “Who am I kidding?” the man muttered to himself as he began to replace the bag’s contents, unused. “Nothing is gonna happen.”  
  
        Ethan considered revealing himself then, but thought even if his information would be welcome, Rupert’s wounded state wouldn’t make for the ideal reunion. He waited until Rupert had exited before emerging from the shadows.  
  
       “I wouldn't say that,” he said to the air, thinking of the mysterious 314, the military men, and who knows what else was on the horizon for dear Rupert. He wondered where a meeting with himself might fall on Rupert’s scale of delightful to dreadful. “I wouldn't say that at all. In fact, Ripper, old mate, I'd say something rather interesting was about to--”  
  
      The door reopened suddenly, cutting Ethan off. He froze as Rupert cast the torchlight on his face.  
  
      “Bugger,” Ethan squeaked. “I thought you’d gone.”  
  
      Rupert didn’t look terribly pleased to see him.  
  
      “Ethan Rayne,” he greeted, his voice low and dangerous. “You have no idea how much thrashing you is going to improve my day.”  
  
      Ethan decided the odds were against him being able to salvage this meeting into anything resembling pleasant. He made to dart past Rupert, but the other man was ready, clubbing him in the gut with the torch then hoisting him up again, fist raised and ready.  
  
      Ethan held his hands up in surrender. “No, no, no! Wait! Hang on! You-you can beat the crap out of me. Go ahead, I can't stop you!” He winced as Rupert raised his fist higher, ready to comply. “O-or you can listen to what I have to say.  Find out what's going on.”  
  
    Rupert looked suspicious. “What are you talking about?”  
  
    “Something bad is happening,” Ethan told him, keeping a careful eye on Rupert’s fist. “Bad for both of us.”  
  
     “Bad for you,” Rupert countered as he made to hit Ethan.  
  
     “No, no, no!” he yelped. “Listen!  You have to listen! You're going to need time to prepare.”  
  
     Rupert lowered his hand, his grip on Ethan’s shirt loosening ever so slightly. “Prepare for what?”  
  
     Ethan exhaled. “I’ll tell you. But can we get out of here and back into the land of the living? I could use a drink, and I suspect you could as well.”  
  
     Rupert narrowed his eyes, but didn’t correct him.  
  
     Ethan smiled. “My treat.”


	5. Chapter 5

        “Isn’t this more fun than kicking my arse?” Ethan asked him with all the smarminess of a used car salesman as they sat with their first round of beers.

        “No,” Rupert grumbled. He still wasn’t sure if this was a great idea.

        Ethan looked disappointed. “Oh. Well, it’s more fun for me.”  
  
        Rupert took a sip, avoiding eye contact with the man across the table. Just like with Joyce, Rupert hadn’t fully been in control of what happened with Ethan the last time he’d seen him, under the influence of enchanted chocolate, but the memory still caused him shame. This was likely part of the reason he reacted so strongly and leapt directly to attacking Ethan tonight. That, and the fact that Ethan’s appearances in Sunnydale tended to come with a headache attached.  
  
        “Just tell me what you want to tell me,” Rupert mumbled irritably.  
  
        “So cross,” Ethan mocked. “We used to be friends, Ripper. When did all that fall apart?”  
  
        The use of his old nickname didn’t make Rupert any less bitter. “About the same time you started to worship chaos.”  
  
        “Oh, religious intolerance. Sad, that.”  
  
        Annoyed, Rupert rose to leave. This excursion had been a mistake.  
  
       “Oh, hang on, I’ll tell you,” Ethan huffed, probably disappointed he had to stop antagonising him. As Rupert settled back into the booth, the meddling sorcerer continued. “Something’s happening in the dark worlds. There have always been rumors out there but . . . only one thing's coming through clear now. That _something_ is harming demons and it's not the Slayer. Know anything about it?”

        Rupert frowned as he took another drink of his beer. “What are they saying?”  
  
        Ethan scoffed. “Ha, you know demons. It's all exaggeration and blank verse. ‘Pain as bright as steel’, things like that.” His face became more serious, staring directly at Rupert. “They're scared. There's something called ‘314’ that's got them scared most of all. The kind of scared that turns to angry. I know we're not particularly fond of each other, Rupert…”  
  
        Rupert chuckled, but the sad reality settled into him in a way it hadn’t in years. Despite everything Ethan had done since they first reunited two years ago, Rupert could only assign blame to himself for their initial animosity.  
  
        “But we are a couple of old mystics,” Ethan went on. “This new outfit, it's blundering into new places it doesn't belong. It's throwing the worlds out of balance. And that's way beyond chaos, _mate_.”  
  
       The bite on his last word didn’t go unnoticed. Rupert drained his glass, steeling himself for what was certain to be an unpleasant admission on his part.  
  
       “I’m afraid I don’t know much more than you do,” he told Ethan truthfully. “We’ve heard reports of military types taking down local demon threats, but I don’t know who they are.”  
  
       “Apologies for eavesdropping,” Ethan said with a grin that suggested he wasn’t sorry at all, “but didn’t I hear you say Buffy was dating one of these commando-men?”  
  
       “So it would seem,” he replied bitterly. “But as I was interrupted by you, I haven’t rendezvoused with Buffy since that revelation. So again, I don’t know much.”  
  
       “Come on, surely the Watchers Council has some kind of intel on this? Seems up their alley.”  
  
       Rupert sighed, beckoning their server to order another round. “I wouldn’t know. I’m not part of the Council anymore.”  
  
       Ethan blinked. “You what?”

        “I was fired,” he admitted. “The Crucia...the test they set for Slayers when they turn eighteen. I couldn’t go through with it. Buffy might have died.”  
  
        He’d expected Ethan to burst into laughter, to tell him it served him right for ever trusting the Council. But Ethan’s face held only confusion as the server sat two more beers on the table. “They fired you for keeping the Slayer alive? Isn’t that kind of the point of a Watcher?”  
  
       Against his will, Rupert felt gratitude toward the other man. Ethan had always had the talent of getting right to the core of the matter while Rupert danced around it.  
  
       “Travers said I had a...that I was too close to Buffy. That I cared too much.”  
  
       Ethan smiled then, and the genuineness of it caught Rupert off guard. It had been decades since he’d seen it, no knowing smirks or mocking grins. Just Ethan’s smile.  
  
       “I could have told you that, Ripper,” he said, picking up his beer. “You’re clearly mad about the girl. But I don’t agree with the Council that that’s a weakness.”  
  
       “You wouldn’t agree with the Council if they crowned you Handsomest Man on Earth.”  
  
      Ethan laughed. “You’ve got me there. Never much cared for them. Especially after...”  
  
      His smile faltered as he trailed off, casting his eyes down to the table.  
  
      “Ethan,” Rupert started, unsure of what he intended to say but feeling the need to clear the air. When Ethan’s dark eyes rose to meet his, Rupert took another large drink, hoping the alcohol would hit his bloodstream quickly.  
  
       “I don’t regret it, exactly,” he said carefully. “Returning to the Council. Because I would never have had the life I have now if I hadn’t changed from what I was then.”  
  
       Ethan folded his arms. “And what life is that?”  
  
       Rupert thought about everything that had happened lately. He wasn’t a Watcher. Buffy was looking up to people like Maggie Walsh instead of him. He didn’t even know about Riley and the Initiative. Even Spike, a thorn in their side for years, was more in the loop than he was.  
  
       “Nevermind,” he said, shaking his head. “The point is, I still think it was the right decision, but I guess I’m saying...I could have handled things better.”  
  
       Ethan smirked. “No offense, mate, but I’m thinking you could learn to handle apologies better as well.”  
  
       “As if you’ve ever apologised for anything in your life,” Rupert retorted with an eyeroll.  
  
       “I make it a habit not to.”  
  
       “I’ve noticed.”  
  
       Rupert smiled at the ease of falling back into such banter with Ethan. The circumstances they’d found themselves in over the past few years didn’t lend much to rekindling a friendship. Rupert’s anger and Ethan’s dangerous idea of a good time hadn’t helped either. But here they were, talking and drinking together, as if everything that had happened between them could be forgotten. It was worth sticking around to find out. It wasn’t as if anyone else was requesting his company tonight.  
  
       “Do you remember that time Philip ended up on the roof?” he chuckled as Ethan finished ordering several shots from the waitress. Clearly he was settling in for a night of old memories as well.  
  
       “And he had no way of getting down. He was afraid to climb down the storm drain,” Ethan supplied, laughing around the rim of his glass.  
  
      “If he’d fallen, we could have helped cushion him. We were pretty adept with that kind of magic, once upon a time.”  
  
        Ethan raised his eyebrows. “Would _you_ have trusted us to catch you if you’d fallen two stories?”  
  
        Rupert shrugged. “Back then, I trusted the gang with everything. You especially.”  
  
        A tray full of shotglasses arrived, six arranged in a circle. Ethan pushed one side toward him, indicating he pick one up.  
  
        “I guess we didn’t have much to lose,” Ethan said as he clinked with Rupert. He downed the liquor before continuing. “Some of us still don’t.”  
  
        Rupert was a little slower to bring the shot to his lips, realising that Ethan at least had some idea of what Rupert had been doing all this time. He had no idea what Ethan had made of himself outside of when he was in town making trouble for the rest of them.  
  
        He poured the shot down his throat, a sweet honey taste accompanying the warmth. “So what _have_ you been up to since then? Last few times you’ve been around, I’ve been too busy cleaning up after your messes to ask.”  
  
        “Oh, a little of this, a little of that,” Ethan said casually, picking up another shot. “Whatever anarchy I can conjure up that’s profitable or fun. What about you-- since the council cut you loose. Still at the high school?”  
  
        “We blew up the high school.”  
  
        Ethan choked as he began to drink, sloshing the liquor out of the shotglass. “Fucking hell. What for?”  
  
        Rupert smirked. Having someone to tell his experiences to made him feel more interesting. “Demon ascension thing. Long story. Greater good type thing.”  
  
        “Why am I not surprised?” Ethan rolled his eyes as he caught their waitress’ attention to order another pair of beers.  
  
  
  
  
        As the night went on, empty glasses piled up, and a pleasant looseness took over Rupert’s overworked brain. He found himself laughing at Ethan’s outrageous exploits rather than chastising him for them. Maybe it had been too long since he’d been able to talk to someone like this. He cared for Olivia very much, but she hadn’t been able to handle the less savoury aspects of his life. Ethan reveled in them.  
  
        “You know what gets me?  This is what gets me,” Rupert slurred. “Twenty years I've been fighting demons.  Maggie Walsh and her nancy-ninja boys come in and six months later, demons are pissing themselves with fear. They never even noticed _me_.”  
  
        “Who’s Maggie Walsh?”  
  
        “Oh, she’s awful,” Rupert answered fervently. “Said I was an absent male role model. Absent, my arse. I’m twice the man she is.”  
  
        His pleasant buzz had shifted into a bit of a haze. Rupert felt his eyes closing as he seemed to sway in his seat. He would have to call it a night soon.  
  
        “You know, you’re really very attractive,” he heard Ethan say. His ears perked up, a balloon of nerves inflating somewhere around his navel as he forced his eyes open.  
  
        His intrigue deflated when he saw Ethan handing his number to the waitress. He was surprised and a little concerned at the disappointment he felt. A little confused, too- he’d never known Ethan to pursue a woman unless he thought he could benefit from her company in other ways. But a long time had passed, Rupert reminded himself, and people change. Who knew what kinds of people Ethan was sleeping with these days?  
  
        “We’ve gotta face it, we’ve changed” he told Ethan, reclaiming his attention as the waitress retreated. “Well, not you. You’re still sadistic and self-centered.”  
  
        Ethan winked and raised his glass. “Here’s to me!”  
  
        “The world has passed us by,” Rupert continued, turning morose. “Someone snuck in and left us a couple of has-beens in our place. This _Initiative_ , I mean, their methods may be causing problems, but they're getting the job done. What am I?  I'm an unemployed librarian with a tendency to get knocked on the head.”  
  
        “Well, we won't have to worry about that anymore now, mate,” Ethan replied, his grin turning into a somber expression. “When you went to the loo I slipped a small pellet of poison in your drink.  You'll be dead in an hour.”  
  
        Rupert’s heart dropped. He knew they’d been off speaking terms for years, and that their last few meetings had ended with Ethan pulverised, but never thought Ethan would actually kill him. Did he have time to get to Buffy, to locate his will, to--  
  
        “JUST KIDDING!”  
  
        Ethan’s cackling broke through Rupert’s panicked spiral, and a sigh of relief quickly turned into more laughter. Enlivened by the quick brush with his own death, Rupert recognised he’d been drinking too much. He wasn’t twenty anymore.

        “I’m going to feel like hell in the morning,” he murmured.

        Ethan softened, his large brown eyes looking at Rupert in what he might have once thought was affection. “Relax. Enjoy the night. We’re still a couple of sorcerers. The night is still our time. A time of magic.”

        Rupert had involuntary flashes of them in their youth. Out all night, jumping from smokey bar to dingy club, conjuring to entertain themselves, dancing around each other as music caused the room to vibrate. Falling into bed together when the bars finally closed, full of booze and magic and a sense of invincibility. He cursed his tendency to overthink now. It had all been so easy, once upon a time.  
  
        “To magic,” Rupert toasted with a grin. When Ethan’s glass clinked with his, the vibrations seemed to carry down Rupert’s arm and into his core.  
  
        Against his better judgment, they ordered another round. By the time the drinks arrived, Ethan had circled the table and resettled next to Rupert. Tension between them rose as inhibitions continued to lower. As Ethan moved closer, speaking in low tones close to Rupert’s ear, he could feel the energy coming off of him in waves of heat. Ethan’s knee grazed his own, causing Rupert’s breath to hitch. He closed his eyes, willing himself to get a grip.  
  
        “Last call!” the bartender announced. Rupert beckoned their server, sure that their tab had reached an alarming total.  
  
        “Closing time,” Ethan mumbled. “I’m in no fit state to drive back to my hotel.”  
  
        “Cab service doesn’t run this late in Sunnydale,” Rupert informed him. “I guess the drivers are too afraid of having their blood drained to pick up strangers in the middle of the night.”  
  
        “Great,” Ethan deadpanned, finishing his last beer.  
  
        “I… live just a few blocks away,” Rupert found himself saying. “We could walk, and you could crash there until you’ve sobered up.”  
  
        He was unsure of what he was proposing, or if Ethan would accept. But then Ethan smiled, and the balloon was back in Rupert’s stomach, causing a rush that had nothing to do with the alcohol in his bloodstream.


	6. Chapter 6

        He stood behind Rupert as the other man struggled to fit the key into his front door, muttering irritably. When the knob finally turned, Ethan gripped Rupert’s shoulder to steady himself as he followed into the dark apartment. A current danced beneath his fingertips as the lights came on.  
  
        The home was modest, but undeniably Rupert. Books and occult trinkets lined his shelves, accompanied by a bottle of aged scotch. The bar leading into the kitchen showcased a blue-patterned tea set. Decorative stairs led to what Ethan assumed was a loft bedroom. His neck prickled as he shamelessly let himself imagine ascending those stairs. In the corner was another shelf stacked with records, next to a stand holding a worn acoustic guitar.  
  
        “You kept it,” Ethan breathed, dropping his shoulder bag on the floor as he approached the instrument. He touched the neck, ran his fingers over the strings, remembering the soft notes that once filled their shared spaces.  
  
         “Best gift anyone ever got me.” Rupert stepped forward, close enough that Ethan could feel the air behind him being disturbed. “I still play it.”  
  
        Ethan turned to face him. “I’m sure it still gets you all the attention and affection you want.”  
  
        “Not exactly,” Rupert chuckled. “Besides, you were always the attention seeker, not me.”  
  
        Ethan shrugged, a noncommittal acceptance of the comment, then walked around Rupert to settle on his leather sofa.  
  
        “I daresay we’ve had enough spirits this evening,” Rupert told him, “but can I get you a tea? Coffee?”  
  
        “Coffee would be great. Black.”  
  
        “I remember.”  
  
        Rupert retreated, dishes clinking in the kitchen as the smell of coffee brewing floated toward Ethan. He returned carefully carrying two jadeite mugs, one with coffee and one with what Ethan could only assume was a sugary, creamy monstrosity.  
  
        He wrinkled his nose. “I never understood how you could stand to ruin coffee like that.”  
  
        “Some of us like the sweeter things in life,” Rupert replied as he handed Ethan the other mug and settled onto the sofa next to him.  
  
        “And me with the acidic dark beverage. Isn’t that apt.”  
  
        Rupert raised his eyebrows, grinning around the rim of his mug as he took a sip.  
  
        “So,” Ethan began, the coffee not enough to strip his liquid courage away yet, “you live here alone?”  
  
        Rupert’s expression was unreadable as he lowered his mug. “Generally speaking. I had a vampire staying in my bathtub for a while, actually.”  
  
        “Now that sounds like an interesting story.”  
  
        Rupert chuckled. “Another time. You remember Olivia, from London? She stayed here for a bit, too.”  
  
        “Past tense?” Ethan asked, feigning a mere casual interest.  
  
        “They’re all past tense,” Rupert said bluntly. “People I...become involved with, they leave. If they’re lucky. Sometimes they die.”  
  
        Ethan considered expressing condolences, but as he didn’t know who for, it felt disingenuous. He pressed his luck instead. “Where does that leave me?”  
  
        It was the first blatant mention tonight of the nature of their past. To Ethan’s surprise, Rupert didn’t frown or narrow his eyes.   
  
        “As the exception, I suppose. I left before you could die from my actions, or wise up and leave me yourself.”  
  
        Ever the willing sufferer, Rupert was. Ethan sighed and shook his head.  
  
        “What is it?”  
  
        “Nothing,” Ethan lied. “I’m not here to ruin our first pleasant evening in decades by hashing out old bitterness.”  
  
        Rupert sighed. “Maybe it’s better if we do hash it out.”  
  
        “By all means.”  
  
        “I’ve thought a lot about this, especially tonight, but really, since you came here that first Halloween I was in Sunnydale.”  
  
        “Okay…” Ethan nodded, unsure where this was going.  
  
        “I think I pushed you away, back then, because you were a reminder of….” Rupert was clearly struggling to get the words out. “Eyghon. Randall. Everything I’d done wrong. Everything I shouldn’t be.”  
  
         “Ripper,” Ethan began as the other man sharply looked up. “Oh, fine, _Rupert_ , then. You know I didn’t hold you responsible for Randall’s death. None of us did.”  
  
         “But I wanted to be held responsible,” Rupert scowled. “To be punished.”  
  
         “For god’s sake, why?” Ethan asked. “You were able to just walk away and get a cushy job, a whole new life. That sounds ideal to me.”  
  
          Rupert scoffed in response, then they fell into a tense silence for several minutes, broken only by the occasional sipping sounds.  
  
        “I think I’m beginning to understand why I grate on you so much, Ripper.” Ethan said finally.  
  
        Rupert sighed, removing his glasses to clean them. “Pray tell.”  
  
        “You’ve got this whole existence that is wrapped around a core of shame for past misdeeds. Always repenting, subjecting yourself to torment just to try to balance the scales. Whereas I have abandoned shame and guilt entirely, making my life a general delight. And you can’t stand it.”  
  
        Rupert glared at him. “‘Shameless’ isn’t what I aim for. Though I suppose it would bring me more of the love and attention you’ve surely received over the years.”  
  
       “Love? Hardly,” Ethan argued. “Once bitten, twice shy, I suppose.”  
  
       The tender expression Rupert’s face shifted into caught Ethan off guard, and he could feel his own walls crumbling before him.  
  
        “No one?”  
  
        Ethan picked at his fingernails. “I’ve been in plenty of beds, if that’s what you’re asking. But I never got too close.” Maybe it was the liquor talking, but putting everything on the table now didn’t sound like the _worst_ idea he’d ever had. “It’s a lot easier to convince yourself you’re unlovable, then work to make it so.”  
  
        Rupert shifted ever-so-slightly closer. “Is that why you kept coming here, making life difficult for me?”  
  
       “I would have thought that was obvious,” Ethan remarked, giving up his last scrap of dignity. “Why else would I be in Sunnydale? I was constantly looking for your attention. I could never have hated you so much if I didn’t…”  
  
       Without meaning to, he’d placed his hand on Rupert’s thigh. They both looked at it, then back at each other.  
  
       “Didn’t what?” Rupert whispered.  
  
       He was so close now. Ethan could see the splash of brown within his pale green eyes, and then he was drowning in it. He held back, forcing himself to remember his last few violent encounters with Rupert. It had been so long since they were both themselves and coexisting peacefully. Even before Rupert left, their relationship had become one of conflict.  
  
       But Ethan was willing to risk getting hurt again for the mere chance of something more. He leaned in, not closing his eyes, desperately needing to look into Rupert’s until the last possible moment.


	7. Chapter 7

        He swallowed, his mouth feeling unbearably dry. Ethan was moving toward him with no sign of stopping. The only cognizant thoughts in his panicking mind were that Rupert could count the faded freckles on Ethan’s nose as he felt their magics begin to mingle.

        Their lips barely brushed each other before they both paused, hanging in midair an inch apart. Time seemed to slow down even with Rupert’s heart beating at double speed. He realised this was his last chance to turn back. Back to bitter estrangement, back to uncomplicated separate existences.  
  
        Ethan was looking into his eyes, unflinching, but if Rupert didn’t know better he thought he might have seen fear there.  
  
        “It’s been over twenty years, Ru,” he said softly, the hand on Rupert’s thigh giving a gentle squeeze. “Whether or not you want this with me, it’s time you let yourself be happy. You can’t keep repenting forever.”  
  
        Rupert closed the distance and kissed him.  
  
        It was soft, hesitant at first as he held Ethan’s face. He deepened the kiss, pressing more of his body inward as he sucked Ethan’s bottom lip between his own. Delicious fire lit him up everywhere their bodies came in contact. He wondered how many years he’d wasted not doing exactly this. Ethan climbed onto his lap, digging his fingers into Rupert’s chest and sending shocking heat to his core. Rupert dropped a hand to the small of Ethan’s back, pulling him closer as he began to kiss down Ethan’s jaw and neck. Feeling the heartbeat beneath Ethan’s pulse point, Rupert grazed his teeth along the skin there, the moan he got in response causing him to buck his hips and grasp at Ethan’s chest.  
  
        The night’s tension had given way to an urgent want as he ripped Ethan’s shirt off him, sending buttons flying as the fabric fell away. He kissed down his right arm, using teeth again on the tender flesh of Ethan’s inner wrist. As he shifted to the other arm, Rupert was stopped by the sight of a large faded pink scar above Ethan’s elbow. His mark was gone.  
  
         “You got rid of it?”  
  
         Ethan looked down at his arm. “Nothing personal. It was when Eyghon was after us. A bit of self-preservation never hurt anybody.”  
  
         Rupert rolled his eyes. “Never hurt _you_ , you mean.”  
  
         Ethan met his remark with another kiss, then trailed down Rupert’s neck with his tongue. When Rupert felt teeth dig into the meat above his collarbone, the shock of pain sent firey energy straight to his groin. He growled, digging his nails into Ethan’s back until the latter cried out.  
  
        He rose from the couch, pushing Ethan off his lap but then pulling him back for another kiss. Ethan unbuttoned Rupert’s shirt, long, dextrous fingers far more patient than Rupert had been. The shirt discarded, he held Ethan’s hips, guiding him backwards to the stairs, but the alcohol in their systems left no room for grace. Ethan fell backwards as his heel caught the second step, grunting as his body hit the stairs and again as Rupert fell on top of him.  
  
        “Sorry,” Rupert grimaced, but Ethan was laughing. He hooked a leg behind Rupert’s arse and pulled him closer, the erection in his trousers pushing into Rupert’s own. Ethan reached down and fumbled with the button and zipper of Rupert’s jeans, sliding them down as Rupert tried to kick his shoes off. One layer removed, they kissed and groped their way up a few more stairs, unwilling to spare the moment it would take to stand up. Ethan undid his own trousers and shimmied out of them before Rupert picked him up and carried him the remaining length of the staircase with Ethan’s legs wrapped around his waist.  
  
        Reaching the bed, he bent over and let Ethan fall back onto it before kissing down his chest and stomach, running his tongue over hipbones that had only become slightly less sharp with age. He made eye contact with Ethan as Rupert peeled his underwear away, Ethan smirking as his cock sprang free.  
  
        Ethan sat up, bringing their bare chests together with another kiss. Hands grasped all over desperately as their combined magics danced over their skin, reunited at last. Rupert retreated to his bedside drawer, coming back with a small bottle of lubricant. He sank to his knees, kissing the inside of Ethan’s thighs as he sat on the edge of the bed. Pushing foreskin back, he took the head into his mouth, smiling around it as Ethan’s neck fell back with a groan. He took more into his mouth until Ethan’s length was covered, then slowly bobbed and teased him with his tongue. Coating his fingers in lube, he opened Ethan’s legs and began to circle the tender flesh between them, still giving Ethan’s cock attention with his mouth. Pushing against the entrance, one knuckle became sheathed inside, then another. He moved back and forth before adding a second finger, stretching Ethan out and eliciting throaty, desperate whimpers. Sounds Rupert hadn’t heard in far too long, sounds that made his heart stutter.  
  
         He withdrew, backing off of Ethan before joining him on the bed. No sooner had Rupert taken his own boxers off than Ethan was on top of him, kissing him down into the mattress. He ground into Rupert’s erection before reaching back for the lubricant.  
  
        “Wait,” Rupert said breathlessly. Ethan’s face betrayed the fear that he was being rejected after all as he backed off of Rupert’s lap. He gripped Ethan’s hand in reassurance with a smile before leaning back to the nightstand and pulling out a condom.  
  
        Rupert bit his lip apologetically. “I’m sorry, it’s just--”  
  
        “A different time,” Ethan finished. “It’s fine, Ripper, you haven’t trusted me in twenty years, why start now?”  
  
        “To be fair, you haven’t given me much reason to.”  
  
        Ethan grinned as he took the wrapper from Rupert’s hands, ripping it open with his teeth before sliding the condom down Rupert’s shaft. Adding lubricant on top of it, he positioned himself over Rupert again, then pinned him to the bed as he took the cock inside.  
  
        Rupert groaned as Ethan’s heat enveloped him. They were still for a moment, enjoying the once-familiar contact they had gone so long without. Then Ethan lifted himself and sank back onto Rupert. Rupert thrust to meet him, the both of them beginning an increasingly frantic rhythm, quick, hard breaths filling the air as they rocked. He knew he had hit his target when Ethan cried out and shuddered around him.  
  
        “Ripper…” Ethan moaned as he came, and Rupert found he didn’t mind at all.

 


	8. Chapter 8

        Side by side in bed, sharing satisfied, languid kisses, Ethan felt twenty years old again, utterly hopeless against Rupert’s lips.  
  
        Exhaustion threatened to overtake them, the pent-up emotional catharsis piling on to the intense physical acts. Ethan laid his head on Rupert’s chest, closing his eyes when an arm reached around to hold him. He wasn’t accustomed to falling asleep beside anyone else.  
  
        Their breaths grew slower and more peaceful as they drifted in and out of consciousness. Ethan didn’t know how much time had passed when Rupert broke the silence. He thought he could see the wispy beginnings of sunrise through the cracks under his eyelids.  
  
        “Ethan…”  
  
        “Hm?” he replied, uninclined to move from his comfortable position.  
  
        Rupert gripped Ethan’s shoulder then shifted up against his headboard, forcing Ethan awake as his pillow moved under him. Ethan propped himself up on his elbow to look at Rupert. His mussed hair made Ethan smirk, remembering countless mornings just like this, countless years ago.  
  
        “This was nice,” Rupert said quietly.  
  
        Ethan furrowed his brow involuntarily at the tone of voice. “But…?”  
  
        Rupert bit his lip. “I think this should be a one-time thing.”  
  
        Ethan could almost hear the word _mistake_. He felt lightheaded, a rush of memories hitting him from the night Rupert left. Bags packed, words exchanged, door shut. Here they were again, Ethan good enough for a fun time but not good enough to stay.  
  
        “I can’t do this,” Rupert continued, sighing. “I have...a life here. They wouldn’t understand.”  
  
        Ethan turned away and tossed the sheet off, his anger at the other man matching the anger at himself for letting his guard down.  
  
        “Some life,” he scoffed as he swung his legs off the bed, ready to leave, hoping that Rupert hadn’t glimpsed the tears forming in Ethan’s eyes. He fought them back, blinking hard.  
  
        “Don’t be like that,” Rupert urged, gripping Ethan’s wrist and pulling him back. “At least stay a while, get some sleep.”   
  
        Ethan sat on the edge of the bed in silence for a moment, struggling to keep furious energy from blasting forth and setting the mattress on fire. When calmness finally came, it came with an idea. The ingredients for his disguising spell still sat downstairs in his bag. The combinations and incantations could be easily altered to transform someone into something more than a simple disguise.  
  
        It was with this thought in mind that Ethan silently laid back down, allowing Rupert to sidle up behind him and hold him once more. The stewing anger within him turned to ice as he planned what he would do. He waited until the other man was softly snoring before gently slipping out of his embrace.   
  
        He collected his scattered clothing as he made his way back downstairs, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror on the landing. The sight of a bite mark on his neck only strengthened his cold resolve as he stared into his own calculating eyes.   
  
        If Rupert wanted to continue living with his inner demons, who was Ethan to deny him?


	9. Chapter 9

        Rupert woke, his body sore and his head pounding. Opening his eyes a sliver, he could see that the sun was shining bright through his bedroom window. It had to be midmorning at least...why was he just waking up?  
  
        Then it all came rushing back, too quickly for his hungover brain to process. The crypt, the bar. Ethan, here…  
  
        He remembered how the night had ended only a moment before realising Ethan was no longer next to him. That was to be expected, he thought, after what he’d said.  
  
        He sat up, groping for his glasses on the table, then remembering irritably that he’d left them downstairs. Curiously, his vision didn’t seem as blurred as it usually was in the morning. The sheets were a mess, and Rupert could see his own clothing strewn about on the floor and leading onto the staircase.  
  
        He struggled to stand up and descend the stairs, his body feeling heavy. He assured himself that was the _last_ time he’d be drinking so heavily. He stretched his arms, rubbing his eyes. Even his hands touching his face felt different, sharp against rough skin. How much _had_ they drank? Rupert would be shaking last night off for a while.  
  
        Reaching the landing, he slowly opened his eyes to see what horrid bags had developed under his eyes. He blinked in confusion at the vision in the mirror. A terrifying creature looked back at him, a tall, menacing beast with sharp fangs, head topped with curving horns. Bones jutted out at odd angles under brown, scaly skin. He screamed, watching the creature in the mirror scream with him. Rupert looked down to see the scaly skin on his own body, but it wasn’t his body, not at all. _Oh, god, are those hooves_ _?_  
  
        He reached up, touching the horns that now seemed to be attached to his skull. The fingers he used to touch them were wrong too- now more like talons than anything. It was a wonder he hadn’t accidentally poked his eyes out. Leaning against the wall to look closer at his reflection, his clawed hand went through the wall beside the mirror as if it were tissue paper. He turned, holding onto the stairs’ banister out of fear that he may collapse in shock. This proved to be a mistake as well, as the wood snapped off and crumbled under his fingers.  
  
        “Damn!” he uttered as he descended the last few stairs, unable to think much else. At least he sounded the same, if perhaps a bit encumbered by the new fangs in his mouth. A million panicked thoughts were racing through his mind, if his home had been invaded by some kind of demon who had converted him to its kind, if he would be able to withstand sunlight to go find help, if he would even be able to explain what had happened to Buffy before she ran him through with a stake. Suddenly, one thought rose to the surface with unexpected clarity, an answer to both how he got this way and what he would have to do to fix it.  
  
        “Ethan,” he growled, bile rising in his stomach at the thought. Anger and despair overwhelmed him. After everything Ethan had proven himself to be, how stupid and gullible was Rupert, to have been duped into trusting him? How had he let this swindling sorcerer into his home, into his _bed_?  
  
        He would call Buffy, explain the situation before she saw him. She could meet him here and they could decide on a course of action to set him straight. Of course, she would have questions as to how he became this way...he would have to play dumb. Then again, who knew if he’d even be able to reach Buffy? It had been an inability to find her that had left him alone in the crypt with Ethan to begin with. He considered calling Xander instead as he picked up the phone. That consideration was quickly made moot as the receiver crumbled in his grip, small plastic pieces raining out of his palm.  
  
        There was nothing for it. He would have to trek outside. Xander didn’t live far, it would probably be a lot easier to get into his basement without being seen rather than Buffy and Willow’s dorm room. Then Xander could help him...or at least, help him get to people who could help him.  
  
        Even in his current state, it wasn’t prudent to venture out shirtless. He picked up the button-down that had been carelessly flung away the night before. Another bitter wave of shame rolled over him with the memory of he and Ethan undressing each other. He pulled the shirt over his shoulders, grimacing as his protruding spine and shoulderblades ripped it down the center.  
  
        “I liked that shirt,” he grumbled, every inconvenience piling on to his insurmountable fury and desire to wring Ethan’s neck. He grabbed the first cover he could find, a heavy flannel blanket, and threw it around himself. It would have to do.  
  
        Throwing open the door, he wasn’t even surprised when it flew off its hinges. Unable to fix it, and truthfully unable to care at this point, he huddled under the blanket and stepped out into the harsh light of day.


	10. Chapter 10

        Ethan rolled over in frustration, having been unable to sleep after returning to the motel that held association with all his Sunnydale memories. This bed was a fair bit less comfortable than Rupert’s, but that was the least of his reasons for restlessness. The sun was high when he finally gave up and started making coffee with the pot by the bathroom sink.  
  
        He wondered what state Rupert was in now. Had he woken up, ripped his bedsheets away to reveal some horribly disfigured demon? Had he tried to enlist the Slayer’s help? As self-righteous as Ethan had felt performing the spell early that morning, a nugget of doubt had embedded itself in his gut.  
  
        The spell was supposed to expire after 24 hours anyway, if he’d measured everything correctly. Enough time for Rupert to learn his lesson but not long enough to cause any permanent issues. Hopefully.


	11. Chapter 11

         Falling in through the tiny basement window, Rupert was astonished that the resulting crash didn’t bring the whole neighborhood down to investigate. Instead, as he clambered to his feet, he only saw a human-shaped lump under the sheets on a pull-out couch.  
  
        “Still asleep…?” Rupert mumbled in wonder as he looked at the clock. Rupert had managed to get up even after a night of heavy drinking and… Well, in any case, this entity being the first thing Xander saw upon waking wasn’t the ideal circumstances. He would have to handle this delicately.  
  
       “Xander,” he whispered, approaching the mess of dark hair peeking out from the covers. “Xander, wake up.”  
  
        “Mom?” Xander mumbled, his eyes still closed.  
  
        “No, it's not mum,” he replied, considering that a contender for understatement of the year. “Now, when you look at me . . . you may be a little alarmed. But there's no need. It’s me, Giles. Now, Ethan has turned me into a demon and I need your help.”  
  
        The young man blearily opened his eyes, looking at Rupert.  
  
        “Hello,” he said excitedly. “Yes, it’s me.”  
  
        Xander’s eyes grew wide as he screamed and scrambled backward out of bed.  
  
       “Xander, listen!  Don't you understand me?”  
  
       Xander continued screaming, horrified. “Demon! Demon!”  
  
      “Please, don't you understand?” Giles cried. The other man had begun to grab the heaviest items from his shelves, launching them toward him. “No, no! Don't! Xander! Xander, calm down!”  
  
       A cast iron skillet smacked Rupert in the chest.    
  
       “Ow! You're just a little overwrought. Oww!” he yelped as another pot made contact with his head. He gave up, struggling to unlock the basement door as items continued to hit him. Finally, the door opened, and he fled back out into the street.  
  
       “That's right!” he could hear called after him as he escaped. “Run for your life!”  
  
       Outside, he was horrified to discover he had run directly across a toy-covered lawn, in full view of several now-screaming children and their distressed guardians.  
  
       “Oh, God. I'm sorry!” Rupert cried, hoping he wasn’t about to be shot on sight.  
  
        “Call 911!” a mother shouted as she grabbed her child and dragged him away.  
  
         _Isn’t that just perfect_ , Rupert thought as he scurried, looking for shelter.  He’d spent days feeling out of place, unloved, then one night with Ethan Rayne turned him into a hideous beast truly out of this world, quite literally unable to communicate with those around him. In another circumstance, looking in, he might have been able to call it poetic. Such flowery language and metaphor had oft been said to calm many a savage breast, but as it was, Rupert found he wasn’t in the mood.


	12. Chapter 12

        Ethan crept up the sidewalk, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice if Rupert- or whatever Rupert was currently- spotted him. If the demon was still inside, he thought he could undo the spell from a safe distance, outside the window. Maybe.  
  
        The uneasiness in his stomach intensified to dread as he saw the front door hanging off its hinges, sunlight streaming into Rupert’s living room. Peering inside, he saw signs of minor destruction. A crushed telephone, so he probably hadn’t been able to call anyone for help. A ripped shirt on the ground-- had that been from last night, or this morning?  
  
        Slowly stepping inside, the place looked deserted. Their coffee mugs from the night before sat on the table, liquid inside them forgotten. Part of the stair bannister was broken off and left on the landing, splintered wood pointing toward Ethan. Next to that was a sizable hole in the wall, plaster dust having rained on the floor below. Had Rupert done all this? And where had he gone?           
  
        Unable to help Rupert without knowing where Rupert was, and not knowing where else to go from here, Ethan thought this was a prime opportunity to do a little snooping. He pulled out Rupert’s desk drawers, finding long, slanting script in jotted notes about all manner of dark entities. He moved to the shelves, a personal book collection housed over a selection of vinyl albums, some of which Ethan was sure Rupert had owned since they’d lived together. Something caught his eye, a photograph, sitting face-down on top of a book. Turning it over, he saw them, the five best friends he’d ever had, surrounding a beat-up old vehicle they’d miraculously never died inside. He allowed himself a rare moment of poignance at the reality that he and Rupert were the only ones left.  
  
        Tucking the photo inside his pocket, he strode out the way he came, leaving the front door as he’d found it. Maybe he’d come across Rupert as he made his way back to the motel. Stranger things had happened. Trouble and Ethan tended to find each other.


	13. Chapter 13

       “And I’m just supposed to help you out of the evilness of my heart?” Spike jibed, holding a cigarette in his mouth and lighting it. How he managed to smoke when vampires don’t breathe, Rupert would never know.  
  
        “Y-you help me and I d-don’t kill you.”  
  
        Spike laughed in his face, leaning against the mausoleum Rupert had encountered him near. “Oh, tremendously convincing. Try it again without the stutter.”  
  
        There was a new level of cruelty in the fact that there was seemingly one person in the whole of Sunnydale who could understand him, and it had to be the irritating bleached vampire.  
  
        “Money?” Rupert sighed. “I could pay you money.”  
  
        Spike’s interest piqued as he flicked his cigarette away. “Oh, I like money. How much?”  
  
        “A hundred dollars,” Rupert ventured.  
  
        “You’ll have to do a lot better than that. Two hundred.”  
  
        Rupert rolled his eyes. “Fine.”  
  
        Spike raised his eyebrows, as if he hadn’t expected Rupert to agree so easily. It wasn’t as though he had many options left.  
  
        “So what’s first?” Spike asked with a grin. “I run and tell the Slayer what you’ve gotten yourself into?”  
  
        “No!” Giles snapped. He couldn’t bear to imagine explaining to Buffy how he’d gotten this way, how he’d let his guard down around one of their known enemies, let alone the details. “When I find Ethan I can...clear all this up, without Buffy ever having to find out that anything happened to me at all.”  
  


 

        So it was that a short while later they had retrieved his car and began their trek. Much to Rupert’s displeasure, the spikes on his spine and tall hooved feet made it an undeniable danger, if not an outright impossibility, to drive. That was how he found himself crammed in his passenger seat, sunk down to stop his horns from scraping the ceiling, his knees far too close to his face in an effort to allow his legs to fit inside. Spike was driving, or rather, he was in the driver’s seat, pushing the gas pedal and struggling with the gear shift, causing the Citroen to lurch and make noises that Rupert was sure indicated an immediate breakdown.  
  
        “If you can’t find third gear,” Rupert shouted, “don’t try for third gear!”  
  
        “I’m doing my best!” the vampire answered. “I don’t know if I’m driving this thing or wearing it.”  
  
        Rupert huffed. Years of the children mocking his car had made it something of a sore spot. “It’s perfectly serviceable.”  
  
        Spike chuckled. “Funny hearing a Fyarl demon say ‘serviceable’. Had a couple of them working for me once. They're more like ‘Like to crush. Crush now?’” he said, affecting a thick grunting voice as Giles glared at him. “Strong, though. You won't meet a jar you can't open for the rest of your life.”  
  
        He was glad Spike found this all so tickling. A growl escaped Rupert as his patience wore thinner by the moment.  
  
        Spike looked at him. “What was that? Did you growl?”  
  
        “No,” Rupert said quickly. “Listen, about this Fyarl demon. Do I have special powers? Like...setting things on fire with my sizzling eye beams?”  As long as he was stuck in this dreadful form, he would at least like to get full use of it.  
  
        Spike seemed to ponder for a moment. “Well, you’ve got the mucous thing.”  
  
        Rupert blinked. “What? Mucous?”  
  
        “Paralysing mucous,” Spike confirmed with a nod. “Shoots out through the nose. Sets on fast, hard as a rock. Pretty good in a fight.”  
  
        He narrowed his eyes. “Are you making this up?”  
  
        “Maybe. But hey, you feel a sneeze coming on, you warn me.”  
  
        He could see the turn for Sunnydale’s Main Street approaching. “Turn here,” he growled, slamming his hand against the door in an unintentionally strong gesture. Spike cut the wheel sharply, veering onto the new road and causing the car to groan loudly in complaint.  
  
        “Down shift! Down shift!” Rupert shouted.  
  
        “Calm down, will you??”  
  
        Rupert’s muscles were tense, his usually-suppressed anger simmering barely under the surface. “I’m not sure I can,” he admitted. “I feel like I’m changing.”  
  
        “Fine with me,” Spike shrugged. “So long as you pay me.”  
  
        Maybe Rupert could learn from that nonchalant attitude, give in to the desires this new form held. It reminded him of years ago, him and Ethan doing whatever they wanted, damn the consequences. The thought of Ethan brought his anger back in full, but this time, he enjoyed it.  
  
        “I rather like this feeling,” he growled, a pleasant feeling returning to his gut. “Sort of a mindless need to destroy. This anger and rage…”  
  
        “Good times,” Spike grinned. “Go with it.”  
  
        Memories of the long-standing effects of his youthful carelessness came back to him. It wouldn’t do to give in to mindless urges anymore. That was rather what had landed him here to begin with.  
  
        “No,” he choked out, struggling for his voice to remain his own, rather than a demonic snarl.  
  
        Spike began to goad him. “Oh, it’s fun. I can’t do it, do it for me.”  
  
        Rupert put his foot down, rather too literally as the metal undercarriage of his car creaked from the punishment. “I refuse to become a monster because I look like a monster. I have a _soul_.  I have a _conscience_.  I am a _human being_.”  
  
        As they cruised down the stretch of road, he spied a woman that yesterday he would have been glad to never see again. Now, he found himself rather delighted at the prospect of coming face to face with Maggie Walsh as she walked by the coffee shop.  
  
        “Stop the car!”  
  
        Spike obliged, letting him out near a bus stop on the street corner. Rupert clambered out of the vehicle and crept close to her, ignoring the frightened reactions of others nearby. When she turned around, he ran at her, waving his arms and shrieking with delight at the terror in her eyes. He came to a stop, laughing as she continued to run away. Rupert doubled back to the car and climbed in.  
  
         Now that that was out of his system, they could carry on.  
  
  


  
        An uncomfortable return to last night’s bar left Rupert holding a blanket around his shoulders, hoping that the pay phone partition was enough to obscure his appearance. He tried not to glance at the booth in the corner, the damned spot where he’d fallen for Ethan’s charms again. Spike had worked his own inexplicable charisma on the waitress, who had remembered where Ethan had indicated to call him.  
  
        Back in the car, which Rupert was actually starting to dislike more each time he had to shrink himself to fit inside, he was seething, his anger not only for Ethan but for whoever may cross his path. Spike was lucky he was being useful, at least for the time being.  
  
        “Picked up a tail,” the vampire said sharply.  
  
        “Yes, just a little one,” Rupert said, humiliation creeping into his voice. “It hurts when I sit.”  
  
        “I _meant_ someone is following us,” Spike clarified, gesturing at the bright headlights in the rearview mirror. “Humvee. Military?”  
  
        “Do something,” Rupert said, with a hint of panic as he remembered his foolish intimidation of Maggie Walsh. He’d bet Spike’s $200 that her commando boys were in those vehicles. “If they catch us, we’ll both end up in a lab.”  
  
        “It’s getting closer,” Spike muttered, just as another Humvee appeared, swerving into the lane next to the Citroen. “And it’s got a friend!”  
  
       “Damn!” Rupert shouted, slamming his arm against the window and shattering it.  
  
       “Oh, sure! Dismantle the getaway car. That’ll scare them.”  
  
        Rupert weighed his options. “Slow down. I’ll jump out, and they’ll follow you.”  
  
        “These commandos are after me too,” Spike protested. “Maybe I want you around to split their attention a bit?”  
  
        There was no time to argue. “I’ll pay you another hundred dollars.”  
  
        Spike grimaced as he tried to shift downward, the car screaming as they rounded a corner. Rupert thought it might be the best he was going to get and took a deep breath, opened the door, and tumbled out onto the pavement. His thickened, scaly skin came in handy as he skidded to a halt, but the experience still wasn’t what he’d call pleasant. Spike sped off as Rupert leapt behind a bush, checking that the military vehicles were still following his own. Once they’d passed, he stood up, thankful to see the flickering neon light of the Sunnydale Motor Inn in the distance.


	14. Chapter 14

        Ethan sighed as he placed a folded shirt into his suitcase. He’d been unable to find Rupert, and by this point, it would be prudent for him to be elsewhere once Rupert regained his wits and body. Ethan’s inability to undo his reactionary spell had left him bitter again, this time at himself as much as Rupert. He had one good thing, had gotten to spend an incredible night reuniting with the man he’d pined for all this time, and he couldn’t leave it at that. It was all or nothing with him, and now he’d fucked it all up. Pathetic.  
  
        A crash behind him made Ethan spin, in time to see a huge horned demon lumbering through the smashed doorway with nothing but rage in his eyes. The same eyes he’d been staring lovingly into when this stupid day had begun.  
  
        “Giles?” Ethan tried tentatively, thinking the use of his last name may appeal to the gentler side of the man those kids knew.  
  
        The creature raised giant claws and uttered a deep, angry growl as it continued advancing. Ethan began to back away.  
  
        “Now, it...calm down!” he yelped as the demon took a swipe at him. Ethan scrambled onto the hotel bed, holding out his hands peacefully to Rupert’s monstrous visage. “It’s okay. Good Giles.”  
  
        Rupert lunged again, and Ethan ducked to dodge him. He jumped off the bed and had very nearly cleared the room when the demon caught up with him and grabbed him forcefully, giant claws pressing painfully into Ethan’s sides.  
  
        “No, no, don’t kill me!” he whimpered. Ethan was then lifted by the throat, forced to look down into the face of what he’d done. He had to buy himself time.  
  
        “Don’t kill me,” he pled. “I can’t undo you if you kill--”  
  
        He was cut off by being flung across the room, his body making contact with the bedside table and splintering the wood. Ethan vaguely registered that there were new shapes entering the room now, and he recognised one as the world returned into focus. The Slayer.  
  
        Was this an improvement? Buffy’s duty would perhaps even lead her to kill Rupert, which was hardly what Ethan wanted. But maybe she wouldn’t be able to. It’s not as if he was a vampire- would a Slayer even know what to do with this rough-skinned hooved beast? The uncertainty may give Rupert enough time to change back before they took action… the spell only had a few more hours, and then he’d be himself again. As Ethan turned to speak to her, he prayed the Slayer’s mercy or ignorance extended that long.  
  
        “You’ve got to stop it!” he shouted. “It killed Ripper and now it’s trying to get to me!”  
  
        Rupert charged toward Buffy and shoved her against the wall, but was met with a hard punch in return. Seeing his opportunity to leave, Ethan tried to escape the room, but found his way blocked by Buffy’s companion, a tall, handsome young man in a combat vest. Knowing he was out of his weight class but seeing no other option, Ethan punched the man, hoping to be aided by the element of surprise. Such luck was not in his favour as Ethan found himself pinned against the dresser while the young man painfully twisted his arms behind his back.  
  
        From the corner of his eye Ethan could see Buffy’s jump kick land squarely in the middle of Rupert’s chest, knocking him back. As his captor joined him in watching Rupert get back up and continue to fight Buffy, Ethan sensed that the young man’s presence here may be more than a military obligation. He cared about the Slayer.  
  
         _Might as well give up now, lad_ , Ethan thought as he glimpsed puppy-dog eyes on the soldier. _Their duty will always come first._  
  
        Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Ethan elbowed the man’s face, trying to escape again. It was no use as Ethan found himself slammed against the wall, his face crushed against the hotel’s truly garish wallpaper. He could hear punches landing behind them, but whether they were pummeling human flesh or demon flesh, he couldn’t tell.  
  
        He tried again to wriggle from the man’s grip, moments before being punched in the stomach. Ethan took a swing in retaliation, but it was no use, before he knew it Ethan was being flipped through the air and slammed on the ground, the soldier pinning his arms again and pressing a knee against his face.  
  
        Ethan didn’t bother making a remark about protecting his beauty, though it was tempting. He could see Buffy and Rupert now, and their fight was intensifying. The Slayer trapped Rupert’s horns in a folding TV tray and used the leverage to swing the demon across the room. Once he’d freed himself, he charged her, slamming the curve of his horn into the Slayer’s face and knocking her to the floor. _Dear god,_ Ethan thought, _they may actually kill each other._ If Buffy unknowingly killed her Watcher, she could at least (incorrectly) assume that she’d killed the monster responsible for his death. But if Rupert accidentally killed Buffy in a fit of blind rage, once he transformed back, it wouldn’t be long before the man was dead by his own hand.  
  
        The Slayer’s legs shot up from where she lay on the ground, locking around the demon’s and bringing him to the floor with a considerable thud and growl. If there were other guests in the surrounding rooms, god knew what they thought was going on. Before Rupert could get back up, Buffy was on him, straddling his waist and holding a small silver dagger of some sort above his chest.  
  
        “This is for Giles,” she bellowed. She raised the weapon high and slammed it down.  
  
        Ethan watched the blade slide into his chest. Noise around him seemed to cease as he saw Rupert’s eyes open wide in shock. Every bad decision, every petty feud had led to this. A wave of sickness threatened to choke him as he could do nothing but remain still under the soldier.  
  
        A look of recognition and horror crossed the Slayer’s face. She knew. Now not even Buffy would be free from the guilt caused by Ethan’s _harmless_ payback. She pulled out the blade, and Ethan thought it strange that something so small and dull could take everything from both of them.  
  
        Sound began to return to the world as Ethan heard Buffy’s desperate pleas.  
  
        “Oh, God! Giles! Giles! I'm so--I'm so sorry! Please don't die!”  
  
        Rupert was making noise...though the demon’s speech was still unintelligible, it didn’t sound as if his voice was fading.  
  
        A flash of hope returned to the Slayer’s expression, and Ethan felt it in his own chest, inflating despite the young man’s weight on top of it.  
  
       “I think he’s okay,” Buffy sighed in relief. Her happiness turned to fury as she stared at Ethan on the floor. “What did you _do_?”  
  
       “If you’ll kindly ask your hunky commando to get off of me, a sentence I never imagined myself uttering,” Ethan appealed as he felt the soldier’s weight shift in discomfort, “I think you’ll find the question is not what I did, but what I can do to make our dear Rupert right again.”  
  
        She nodded toward her companion, who got off of Ethan and roughly pulled him up by the collar.  
  
        “I’m going to have to iron that shirt,” Ethan said irritably.  
  
        “Work your magic, warlock boy,” Buffy scowled. “Turn Giles back. Riley, don’t let go of him.”  
  
        Ethan grumbled as he made his way toward his bag, digging out the remnants of ingredients from the transformation spell as Riley kept hold of him by the shoulders. He sat on the floor, creating a small conjuring circle with the magical components. This was what he had wanted, Ethan supposed, though he was rather afraid what waited for him once the demon turned human again and found the cause of his woe within reach. Staring at Rupert, who was still being restrained by the Slayer for safety, Ethan lit a candle and began the reversal spell.


	15. Chapter 15

        Rupert blinked, his brain in a confused fog as though he was waking up from an unintended nap. Buffy was standing up from being on his waist, smiling down at him in relief. He sat up and glanced around the wrecked motel room. Nightstands smashed, the walls’ plaster scraped, a folding tray table shattered into pieces. Then the most curious sight came into view- Ethan, looking glum while sitting cross-legged on the floor, the remnants of a spell circle in front of him. Buffy’s new boyfriend, in a combat vest, holding Ethan in place. Rupert caught Ethan’s eye, and perhaps he was merely tapped out from going full throttle as a Fyarl demon, but he found he didn’t have the energy to be angry at Ethan. More than anything, he felt a kind of melancholic acceptance, realising that through his own actions as much as Ethan’s, they were never destined to have a normal relationship again, if they ever had.  
  
        Buffy reached down to help Rupert up. Once he was standing, he saw her face and understood what she had probably been through while he was having his own nightmarish day. She had to have been searching for him to end up here, ready to take revenge on the demon who she probably thought had killed him. He felt the need to embrace her, to thank her for caring, to apologise for ever thinking she didn’t. As he smiled at Buffy and tried to wrap his arms around her, she grimaced, holding a hand up to him.  
  
        He frowned. “What is it?”  
  
        Buffy pointedly stared at the ceiling. “Please put a shirt on.”  
  
        He glanced down, just now realising that of course he’d been shirtless all day, unable to wear one with his demonic appendages. He let out a self-conscious chuckle and was thankful for the small mercy that he’d left his home wearing pants.  
  
        “I don’t have anything,” he told her apologetically.  
  
        She crossed the room, passing Ethan and Riley who were watching with mild interest. As Buffy stood next to Ethan, Riley excused himself to make a call. Throwing open Ethan’s suitcase, she grabbed the first shirt on top and tossed it at Giles.  
  
        “Here,” she said as he caught the light material in his now blessedly-unclawed hands.  
  
        He slipped the silk over his shoulders and began to button it. The scent hit him, a fresh lavender aroma, and he found himself transported back over 25 years to the first time he met Ethan, when they’d spent the night together innocently. He’d needed to borrow a shirt then, too, and it began everything that was to come. What a strange bookend to their history.  
  
        Riley re-entered, hanging up his mobile phone. Buffy left Ethan, letting her knee nudge his shoulder as she crossed the room to Giles again.  
  
        “You okay?” she asked him.  
  
        He smiled sheepishly as he turned to a vanity and observed himself in the mirror. “Oh, um, embarrassed mostly. Ethan’s wardrobe’s not helping any.”  
  
        Rupert forced himself to make a joke about the unpleasant pattern. Buffy couldn’t know how he really felt in it, the memories it conjured, the regret that sat between himself and Ethan like a brick wall. He turned back to her. “How did you know it was me?”  
  
        “Your eyes,” she said, smiling. “You’re the only person in the world that can look _that_ annoyed with me.”  
  
        He smiled in return, hoping the conflict he felt beneath it didn’t shine through. The two of them knew each other so well, went through so much together, but she’d never figured out this part of him. Not that he’d ever encouraged that. He wondered if it had been a man other than Ethan, someone who wasn’t constantly putting them in danger, if it would make a difference. Doubtful-- the mere premise of Giles and romance being adjacent to each other seemed to alarm Buffy, regardless of who he was with. He chuckled at that.  
  
        “Is this gonna go on much longer?” Ethan asked, getting to his feet and dusting himself off. “I’d rather like to be going.”  
  
        Buffy turned to him, crossing her arms. “And why would I let you go?”  
  
        “Maybe because you have no choice,” Ethan said, his self-assured demeanor apparently recovering. “I’m human, you can’t kill me.”  
  
        Riley stepped closer to Ethan, allowing two muscled military men to enter the room behind him. Ethan looked at them, dismayed.  
  
        “By the authority of the US military, you're being taken into custody pending a determination of your status,” Riley informed Ethan, handcuffing him before turning to the new arrivals. “Take it from here.”  
  
         The two men grabbed Ethan’s arms and frog-marched him out of the room. Buffy looked up at Giles, clearly proud of her boyfriend, and he forced himself to smile back at her.  
  
        Riley approached them. “They'll, uh, take Mr. Rayne to a secret detention facility in the Nevada desert. I'm sure he'll be rehabilitated in no time,” he assured them with a grin.  
  
        Rupert needed some fresh air, away from Buffy who’d be watching his every reaction. He excused himself, halfheartedly joking about wanting to watch Ethan being manhandled into a vehicle.  
  
        As he stepped outside, seeing exactly that unfold, laughing was the last thing he felt like doing. The commandos shoved Ethan toward the open Humvee, with more men waiting inside it to transport him. Ethan paused for a moment, seeming to sense he was being watched. He looked back, making eye contact with Rupert for what felt like the last time. They’d reconnected, drank together, slept together, and it all still blew up in their faces. Even if the military released him in a matter of hours, Rupert couldn’t see the two of them coming back from this. Ethan kept staring at him as the men pushed his head down and into the vehicle, and Rupert watched him back even as the door was closed, the dark tinted windows obscuring all but the shape of Ethan. The engine started and the frame began to rumble, pulling out of the motel parking lot and taking him away.


End file.
